Tears fall from a father’s eyes as he stands at his daughter’s grave, the little girl who once meant the world to him—so innocent, so naïve. A girl of only three, taken too soon by the cold, unyielding hands of death. “Daddy, I love you,” she had said, her warm embrace lingering in his memory. How can he sleep, when the earth beneath her holds so much dust, and his precious girl lies buried deep within it?
Her body may be gone, but her life—her very soul—has slipped away. Gone with her is the joy, the light, the love he once held so tightly. The same hands that had lovingly caressed her hair now tremble, feeling only the emptiness of her absence as they laid her to rest. The fingers that once grasped his for support are gone, and no words can wipe away the tears that now flow from his heart.
In the stillness of the house, he clutches her pillow, her dolls, her fairy tales—fragments of a life now gone. His heart aches with the quiet melancholy that fills every corner of their home. Her laughter, her acts of mischief, her baby talk, her innocent dreams—everything now lies shattered, like beads of a rosary that have spilled across the floor, lost to time.
You are dead, my child, but in that grave lies not just your body—it is my life, my soul that is buried with you. May angels surround you now, may they safeguard you in the eternal life that awaits, as your father’s heart breaks in the silence of this farewell.